Merry RENTmas 2011!
by KissTheBoy7
Summary: A collection of holiday oneshots for all of my dearest friends, online and off, about our favorite RENT characters. Regardless of if they're for you, I hope you enjoy them. Fluff and holiday cheer! Love, Toni.
1. Baby, It's Cold

**Title: **Baby, It's Cold

**Rating: **T

**Pairing: **April E./Roger D.

**Summary:** April comes home on Christmas Eve after a long day at work and Roger cheers her up with some holiday romance.

**A/N:** This one is for Vikki (Velvetfur) who, in the past... what, two or three years? Has been a very, very good friend to me. And I hope we continue to grow closer. :) I thought she would appreciate a story involving her own character- she plays April Ericsson in our RENT roleplay- and I really hope she enjoys the story, since she's always complaining about how there isn't enough fluff to go around. Merry Christmas, my sweet. xD

She'd never lead a particularly happy life, but April was certainly having a shitty day and she was going to make sure that everybody knew about it.

The redheaded girl stormed up the hundreds of metal stairs leading to the loft she shared with her boyfriend and three other people on the eighth floor swearing loudly, stomping the snow off of her boots along the way. Her feet seemed to have frozen into iceblocks in her time standing outside. Six hours. Six _fucking_ hours she'd stood there on that street corner and nothing. Granted, it was Christmas Eve and below freezing outside, but shouldn't at least one man have had the sense to stop and take a coupon from the shivering girl standing outside the coffee shop?

Well, maybe they would have if she hadn't been shuddering so hard that her teeth chattered and clutching her coat around her, covering up her best assets. Back at the club, where it was heated and she was in her element, April would have turned anyone's head. But as soon as it got cold she became just a nineteen year old girl again who needed to pay off her debt to her heroin dealer and think up a good present for her boyfriend besides.

The key in her pocket stung her slowly thawing hands, ice cold, and she grimaced as she shoved it in the lock and twisted, bursting inside. The loft was no warmer than the staircase had been, just a few degrees warmer than the outside world where flurries of snow had stuck in her hair and cold air had filled her lungs, clinging to her and making her shiver. The first thing she did was drop her bag on the floor, the second struggle out of her coat before thinking better of it halfway through and pulling it back on- and then there was Roger.

The man of her dreams was lounging on the living room couch, guitar cradled loosely in his lap as he strummed a tuneless tune. His green eyes snapped up as she entered, sharp and dark, and he immediately set aside the instrument and held out his arms in complete understanding.

She ran into them gratefully, tackling him back onto the couch and pressing her cold face to his chest both for warmth and closeness. Breathing in the scent of him, relishing the human contact after a day out in the cold, April mumbles to him, "Roger I missed you..."

"You've only been gone since this morning!" he chuckled teasingly, one hand cupping her ass and then sliding up the back of her jacket, warm and large and calloused. Everything she'd been yearning for all day. "I know it's Christmas Eve but really? Don't whine."

"Maybe I like to whine." She pouts as she looks up, lips glossy and bright red- underneath the makeup they were probably blue but she didn't want to think about that. It's hard to think with Roger's warmth seeping into her, his low, hoarse stage voice in her ear and lips brushing over it.

"Alright- what can I do to make you stop whining?"

Shivering lightly at his tone, she snuggled further into him and smiled widely into his chest so he couldn't see her. After all, she was supposed to be pouting. "I don't know…" Playfully, she looked up through her lashes to see the adoring way that Roger was looking at her when he thought she couldn't see. The guitarist liked to pretend that he didn't love her; she knew the truth. "What about… Watching the snow with me?"

"Is it snowing? Fuck," he scowled, glancing out the window to see the fat flakes drifting past. It wasn't a storm now, but if it was they might end up snowed in the way they had last year. He could hear the wind howling and see the darkening sky, and he knew that it was likely.

"Yeah… But you know, it is kind of pretty," she remarked, staring out somewhat mesmerized. Nature was fascinating. April identified with it, whether it was because it was unpredictable as she was or it's 'I-don't-give-a-rat's-ass-what-you-want-I'll-do-as-I-please attitude she didn't know. Outside, she knew, it was definitely not pleasant- but from the inside, even if it was no warmer, she could appreciate the beauty of the icicles forming at the tops of the windows.

"I guess, if you have heat," he said dryly, but he glanced back at her at the word pretty and she felt herself flush at the implication. She KNEW she was pretty, but it wasn't something Roger ever said out loud. He was great at written words- he'd written ten songs for her to date, going on eleven soon enough by the looks of it- but out loud, he was no more romantic than Mark, and Mark was too awkward to even get himself a girlfriend, with his stuttering, blushing advances.

"Who needs heat?" She felt a small smile unfurl on her thawing lips. "Come on. Let's watch the snow. It's Christmas."

Though he groaned in annoyance, Roger complied- he could never resist her for long. Scooping her up into his arms, he swung his legs off the side of the couch and carried her to the window sill, sitting them both down and wrapping his arms around her midsection. Behind the frigid glass, clouded with their breath, the brewing storm looked beautiful.

"I'm glad you're not still out there," the guitarist admitted without looking at her. "I was worried." Hastily, he added, "You know. Because we can't fuck if you have frostbite. I would feel bad."

Giggling, the redhead shook her head, not bothering with a verbal response. Roger cared about her and she knew it. Maybe sometimes dark thoughts crept up on her and maybe sometimes she gave into them, sitting in the middle of her bed in the dark with Roger asleep beside her curled into a ball and staring hopelessly at the wall. Maybe sometimes it got to be a little overwhelming, this life she had, the memories that wouldn't leave her alone, the voice in her head whispering terrible suggestions. But here, with Roger… He could always make it go away, at least for a short time.

Lying in Roger's arms staring out at the snow, April found herself at peace.


	2. The Jealousy Factor

**Title: **The Jealousy Factor

**Pairing: **Mark/Roger (Marker!)

**Summary: **When Mark gets chummy with a girl at Life Support during the holidays, Roger starts to get jealous. Who knows what he might do?

**A/N:** This one is for my lovely Olivia (ImDefyinGravity), who has been my Roger for going on five months now. I love you. :D Facebitch will never win no matter HOW many times it deletes our accounts! Anyways, she's pretty fucking amazing and I wish I didn't have to sneak around to talk to her. She be the Eli to my Harvey. (: You won't understand that unless you follow us on our roleplay page… Anyways. Merry Christmas! xD I love youuuuuu!

Green eyes narrowed, Roger fought off the low growl rising in his chest as he followed Mark's line of vision to the curly-haired girl sitting next to Paul at the other side of the circle of chairs. It was Christmas Eve, and he should probably try not to kill her. Holiday spirit, right? Life Support was supposed to be a place where everyone felt safe, but with his arm casually-but-not-really slung around the back of his roommate's chair and Mark's total preoccupation, Roger had never felt more threatened.

What was that girl's name again? He couldn't even remember. Probably something slutty, he thought sullenly. Slut. Goddamn it, he needed to get a hold of himself! This girl could hardly have been eighteen and she was almost as innocent-looking as Mark had been when he'd come here, all big blue doe eyes and wonder at everything as he stared up at the buildings, the flashing lights, the swarms of people. Shit. He had no right to label her, but here he was.

Roger didn't really want to admit that he had feelings for his roommate, but he knew they were there. Just because he didn't say it out loud didn't mean he didn't feel it. And try as he might, he couldn't seem to shake it off.

And then there was this girl, all shy and awkward and _JUST_ like Mark. She was Paul's niece or something like that- Roger didn't remember, all he knew was that Mark had taken a liking to her and she had certainly taken a liking to Mark. And it made him nervous. Scowling, he tore his eyes from the girl and tried to pay attention to Paul's inspirational speech to them all.

Sadly, his eyes almost immediately magnetted to Mark instead. He swallowed down the surge of affection he felt just looking at the other man. Mark's skin was slightly flushed, pink from the cold outside, his camera in his lap as his thumbs stroked lovingly over the crank. Roger couldn't seem to tear his gaze away, feeling a smile force its way onto his face slowly, sneakily. God, Mark was just too cute…

Fuck! Alarmed by the path his thoughts were taking, Roger jerked away- the group went silent as he suddenly lurched out of his chair and, making some feeble muttered excuse, stalked towards the door. He pushed it out almost violently, spitting profanities under his breath, and stepped out into the freezing air of New York on Christmas Eve. The door swung shut behind him. He descended the few steps before turning into the alley between the rec center and the deli next door, leaning against the cool brick and, without really thinking, pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

It doesn't matter if he's been trying to quit for a month. He'd been doing well, and Mark would be disappointed- but fuck that. He wanted a god damn smoke. He wanted Mark, too, but he couldn't let himself think that way so he had to allow himself at least one of the two… Sighing, he slipped a lighter out of his pocket into his hand and flicked it against the end of the stick between his fingers, watching it flare to life and taking a deep drag.

This really shouldn't bother him so much. He wasn't Mark's keeper. He wasn't his boyfriend- although the thought sent pleasant tingles down his spine… Fuck! Roger! Get it together! His scowl deepened as he exhaled smoke into the frosty air, staring moodily at the dingy brick buildings all around him and the icy brownish slush coating the ground that used to be snow.

He's not entirely sure how long he spends brooding outside of the recreation center before he hears the doors swing open and Mark's voice calling for him. Great. Internally groaning, he drops the cigarette and stomps it out with his boot, staring at the mouth of the alley waiting for the filmmaker to peek cautiously around the corner for him as he always did.

Sure enough, that blonde head popped up anxiously, pink lips parted to call for him again. Blue eyes lit up as they spotted him, and, still clutching his camera under one arm, Mark made a beeline towards him. "Roger? There you are… Hey, what's up?"

"It's nothing," Roger muttered, somewhat annoyed. He had to try hard not to stare adoringly at his roommate and the very thought that he actually had to try made him stiff, anxious.

Despite his less than cuddly disposition, Mark sidled up beside him, leaning against his shoulder. "You can tell me," he said, smiling lopsidedly and nuzzling into Roger's neck, nose cold but Roger couldn't bring himself to tell him to fuck off. "S'what I'm here for, you know."

Just then, as Roger's resolve was weakening, he heard that curly-haired girl's voice in the background yelling. "MARK! Where'd you go?"

"I'M FINE OLIVIA, I'LL BE RIGHT BACK!" he shouted, laughing. Her curly head peered around the corner to stick her tongue out at him before disappearing, and something in Roger snapped.

Before Mark could protest, he'd shoved his scrawny frame back into the freezing brick, the breath rushing out of him in a pained gasp, and then covered his pretty pink lips with his own rough, chapped ones. And then it was over. He hardly had time to savor the taste of Mark before he forced himself to back away, heart beating frantically, staring at his wide-eyed roommate for a moment longer before averting his eyes, ashamed and humiliated.

"I'm sorry-" he started, voice broken, but Mark was staring at him in a way that was unnerving and he stopped. "… What?"

"Can we do that again?" Mark stammered, breathless and even redder than before. Roger's brain shorted out for a moment, and he felt his mouth open to form words he hadn't given permission to leave his mouth.

"I- Yes," he managed, nodding vigorously, and he lunged back in to get a good grip on either side of Mark's face before mashing their lips together more passionately. He felt the filmmaker's hands creep up his back and into his hair, tugging lightly on the overgrown curls, and he smiled into his mouth.

"Merry Christmas," Mark murmured shyly as he pulled away the second time. His heart melted a little at the sight of those vibrant blue eyes staring up at him, arms wrapped around his neck, unwilling to let him pull away. The bitten lip did him in.

"Yeah. It is." And a wide grin spread over his face as he realized it was true.

His hand grabbed one of Mark's from around his neck and he tugged him towards the mouth of the alley, eliciting a surprised squeak from the other man as he all but dragged him down the icy pavement. If he had his way, he was going to make Mark's Christmas _very_ merry.


	3. Last Christmas

**Title:** Last Christmas

**Pairing:** Mark/Roger (Marker)

**Summary:** It's their first Christmas since Mark's diagnosis and he's acting strange. Roger can't figure out why for the life of him.

**A/N:** This'un is for Elizabeth, people. (elizzabethavary) Hiiiii, bb :D *waves frantically* In the past couple of months she's become a really great friend of mine and my second Roger on roleplay. She's been amazing and supportive when I needed her to be and I try to do the same for her. We had to overcome some odds- like figuring out how to text over the Canadian/U.S. border for free- but we did it! Happy holidays, Lizabeth. :3 If you like nothing else about them, like this!

It was obvious to Roger from the moment he woke up that something was off. Mark wasn't in his normal place cuddled up beside him in bed, and in his place was a steaming mug of coffee with a little orange sticky note stuck to the side of it, "Merry Christmas!" written on it in Mark's neat cursive scrawl. He carefully disentangled himself from the sheets so as not to upset it and picked it up in both hands, frowning and taking a sip. It was still hot.

Then where the hell was Mark?

He allowed himself a few more long sips of the coffee before opening his eyes again blearily and swinging his legs our over the side of the bed. The floor was freezing to his bare feet, but he managed not to make any disgruntled noises at this, just pulling on a questionably clean pair of sweatpants and a tank top from the floor. Wandering into the hallway and out into the living area, he looked around curiously for his roommate-turned-lover.

Mark was sitting on the couch by himself, sipping quietly at a mug of tea- tea, not coffee, he thought with a small smile, of course. Mark was strange that way. He was frowning lightly, looking troubled. Roger made a small grunt to alert him to his presence, because he knew Mark hated people sneaking up on him. (He was probably the most high-strung person Roger knew- another reason that it was probably best that he stayed away from the coffee.)

As his eyes snapped up to meet Roger's, the filmmaker paled and scrambled to his feet, nearly tipping over his half-full mug of tea in the process. "O-oh! You're up- I was just leaving…" That's when the guitarist noticed that he was fully dressed, probably at least five layers plus the faded plaid jacket he'd been wearing for years. His camera sat beside him on the couch. He felt his lips full into a confused and disappointed frown.

"Aren't we spending Christmas together?" He didn't mean for it to sound so hurt and he winced internally. But perhaps guilting it out of him would actually work, because Mark blanched.

"I- thought that- Nevermind. I guess I can stay. Unless you want to go to Life Support?" He sighed at Roger's mulish expression. "Okay… Maybe not… I'll just- be in my room then…"

With that he scurried off, barely brushing past Roger in his haste to get to his room- which he'd hardly occupied for months now, sharing Roger's bed with him and consequently his room- shutting the door as quietly as he could behind him.

Roger stared, dumbfounded, at the closed bedroom door and slowly brought the coffee mug to his lips for another sip.

He'd just have to ask him later…

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

He tries everything to keep himself busy. Really. Mark needs his privacy sometimes, needs his isolation, or maybe he'd just been struck with inspiration and needed some time to get it all down on paper, or cut together some film. He'd been working on another movie, lately, seemed really into it. But Roger was never good at entertaining himself; he needed a crowd of adoring fans or semi-amused friends to hang off of and annoy until they did something to distract him from the mind-numbing boredom he was quick to descend into.

Not to mention, Mark was being really weird. He came out of his room once to use the bathroom, scurried so quickly in and out that Roger barely had time to react, and once he came out just to pace up and down the hallway a couple of times before nodding to himself and returning to his cave. Roger had watched all of this with the same baffled face, a notebook in his lap and a pen between his fingers, or his lips, as he tried in vain to ignore the cold seeping into him and write something cheerful for the holidays.

Come to think of it, it didn't seem a whole lot like Christmas, Mark was Jewish and he didn't know that Roger was used to paper chains and Christmas trees freshly cut his entire childhood. Collins hadn't been around much this year, couldn't even make it back here from his new job in Maine, but promised to stop in at New Years. He would usually have brought them some holiday spirit. But as it was, it was light and there were no decorations to be found, and Roger was bored out of his mind, desperately curious as to what his boyfriend was up to.

It got the better of him around four in the afternoon. It was already starting to dim, and he was sick of the waiting. "Mark! What the hell! Come out, what are you DOING?" He banged on the door, shouting, and almost instantly it cracked open to reveal Mark's pink and anxious face.

"I thought I'd leave you alone today… Because, you know… It's been a year." Roger blinked without comprehension and Mark sighed. "A year since we got together- and you made a wish?"

Slowly, it dawned on him, and he made an understanding noise in the back of his throat. _"My New Years resolution? Come on, Mark, do you really think I'd follow through with it if I made one?" He'd snorted, stroking his hand through the other man's soft hair. Mark had shrugged._

"_It's good to have a resolution! It gives you something to strive for." He'd protested. And Roger had sighed in defeat, closing his eyes and thinking for a moment._

"_Okay, fine. Even though it's only Christmas…" He'd shot Mark a look then, exasperation laced with amusement at the childish eagerness on his face, blue eyes shining. "I guess I'm going to try my best to… make sure this works. And keep you happy. And… healthy."_

Starting to feel guilty, Roger ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Did you take your AZT?"

Mark nodded silently, looking even more guilty than Roger felt, and he wasn't sure why. Giving him an odd look, he asked, "What's wrong? You know you didn't do anything wrong, Mark."

"I got sick. I ruined it." Biting his lip, Mark started to retreat into his room again, but Roger's arm shot out and caught his. His struggles were feeble and Roger knew he didn't honestly want to get away.

"Hey. Shut up. You couldn't control that," he said, scowling impatiently and tugging Mark towards him, forcing the door open wider and pulling him right into his chest. The shorter man looked up anxiously at him, eyes big and blue and concerned as ever, guilty for no good reason. "It's Christmas and I want to spend it with you."

Mark had to smile at the whine in Roger's voice, arms coming up hesitantly to wrap around his neck as he nuzzled into his chest. "M'sorry," he mumbled, hair tickling Roger's chin. "I just…"

"I know. You WORRY." Roger rolled his eyes, hugging Mark to him and soaking in his heat, this full body contact he'd been yearning for all day. He let his eyes fall shut, finally relaxing, and felt himself at peace for the first time since his caffeine buzz had crashed.

"It's what I do…" Mark laughed and pulled away slightly, only half joking. "Did you take _your_ AZT?"

"Yes, mom," he mocked, sticking out his tongue and then thinking better, leaning down to lick a stripe across his neck. He was rewarded with a squeal and a squirm, and a smirk spread across his face. "So. Are you going to come cuddle with me? Are you really going to make me ASK?"

"No, that's okay. I'll come now," Mark replied, the shy flush returning as he glanced down, smiling almost to himself. He stepped away for a moment, dusting himself off, and removes his arms from Roger's shoulders only to replace them in his hands. And the guilt begins to fade from his eyes.

Roger feels a smile creep onto his own face. But Mark has always had that effect on him. "I love you, sick or not," he says sternly, squeezing his hand reassuringly.

Mark laughs, and everything is okay again.

"I love you too, Rog. Merry Christmas."


	4. Reindeer Games

**Title:** Reindeer Games

**Pairing:** Mark/Roger (Marker)

**Summary: **Early on Christmas morning, a teenaged Roger sneaks in through Mark's window to celebrate the holidays with his Jewish friend.

**A/N: **Jessica, this one be for you my fangirl-in-crime! :) Yeah, I really couldn't resist when it came to teen!Marker. (I'm still eagerly waiting for your next chapter... *hint hint, wink wink*) Anyways, Jess (nodaybuttodayJ94) has been my mutual fangirl for a coupla months and we always make sure to review for each other. And she's pretty awesome, guys, so go check out her fanfiction. Hope you have a merry Christmas! :) Looooove, your fangirl.

Mark didn't normally like to be woken up by a snowball to the head, and he didn't today.

"Fuck!" He shrieked, shooting up out of bed and shaking his head frantically, snowflakes and ice chips flying out of his hair. A ringing was in his ears, the side of his head numb with cold, and his eyes flew open wildly as he clutched his blankets to his chest. No, this is not how he preferred to wake up... As awful as he thought his alarm clock was, at least it only assaulted one of his senses.

Roger stood over him, flushed and beaming at him as though everything was just hunky dory. As though he wasn't clapping his wet, frozen hands together to get the feeling back into them. He narrowed his blue eyes at the other boy, still half asleep and grouchy.

"What the hell do you want?"

"Good morning to you, too!" That shit-eating grin again. He should be sick of it, but he couldn't help it- it gave him butterflies every time. Disgruntled and trying not to submit to the warm glowy feeling in his gut, Mark huffed.

"It's seven a.m. on a Saturday. Why am I awake?" he complained.

Roger gave him the _look_- his patented Roger Davis exasperation, 'fuck the world, if I don't approve then it's not right'- and snorted, hands on his hips. He wasn't wearing nearly enough layers for this freezing December day. In fact, Mark wasn't sure why but he had a feeling that this December day in particular was important…

"It's CHRISTMAS, dumbass!" The brunette swatted at his ginger friend's head playfully, pulling a small package out of his jacket, toying with it. "You know, Santa and his elves? Frosty the Snowman? Rudolph?"

"I'm Jewish!" he protested lamely, but they both knew that didn't mean anything. Everytime he slept over at Roger's house he woke up in the morning and had a plate of bacon, and he knew more Christmas carols than Roger did. As he named off the different Christmas trademarks, cheerful Christmas tunes began playing in his head.

_Rudolph the red-nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose…_

Sometimes Mark felt like Rudolph. The victim of bullies' insults, the scrawny oddball that nobody noticed except when it was to point out his flaws, the things that were unique and therefore bad- his reddish hair, his vibrant eyes, his too-thick glasses and his camera, practically attached to him. Ostracized, that's what he was. And from the time he'd heard that catchy song, four years old in a shopping mall with his mother, he'd decided that he liked Christmas very much. Jewish or not.

_They never let poor Rudolph, join in any reindeer games…_

He shook his head, sighing, as Roger climbed into his bed with him and did his very best not to blush. They were fifteen now and the tension was getting unbearable, always dancing around each other; Mark knew very well that Roger was bi, and Roger knew that Mark had always had a schoolgirl crush on him, since the day they met in the first grade. But no one was prepared to put themselves out there, make the first move.

Mark really wished that Roger had brought mistletoe to him through his window instead of the small present being thrust into his hands, but he couldn't really complain. He chewed his lip guiltily. "I couldn't think of what to give you…" he admitted sheepishly, starting to feel bad as he turned the wrapped present over in his pale hands, marveling at the contrast between the bright colors and his own skin.

"I don't care. Open it!" Roger was like a puppy, over eager, bouncing the bed underneath both of them and leaning right into Mark's personal space. The smaller boy gave up, blushing violently and hoping the other boy didn't notice.

He meticulously hooked his nails under the tape, carefully peeling it away from the paper sure not to rip it even in the slightest. It aggravated Roger when he did this and he knew it, but he was _Mark_- if he wasn't obsessive compulsive and twitchy over every little thing, who would he be? Not Mark. A minute of fiddling later, he smiled slightly in triumph as he got the paper open and dumped the small object into his palm.

A snow globe, crystalline glass and perfect on a plastic red-and-green stand, tumbled into his palm, heavier than he'd expected. He peered at it curiously, holding it up to the light and shaking it a little. Little white flakes of artificial snow danced around, floating slowly to the miniature ground as miniature pine trees stood still and a plastic version of Rudolph grinned at him, small and beacon-nosed and happy as can be with Clarice at his side.

"Oh… It's pretty," he murmured, fascinated. It was a long minute before he tore his eyes away, gut twisting pleasantly again as he took in Roger's anxious expression. He was waiting, he realized. For confirmation that he liked it. "I love it!"

Roger immediately relaxed, green eyes warm and filled with hope. "Really?" he asked, disregarding Mark's personal space even further, practically in his lap. "Oh, good… I mean, I know it's a little tacky. But I figured since you don't get to do a tree at your house and this year my mom wouldn't let you come over and do ours-"

"It's really nice," he nodded, cutting off Roger's tirade, nodding and feeling guilty again as he looked away. "I'm really sorry I didn't get you anything. I wish I had something to give you. I feel like an ass."

"Pshh. I don't hang out with assholes bigger than me," Roger teased, leaning in further. Mark half wanted to lean away, nervous- what was he doing? Roger never took things this far, so close he could feel his breath on his lips, and his eyes flickered nervously down as he licked them.

"What…?" he started dazedly, unable to make himself pull away, dancing on a thin line of anticipation. Roger didn't give him an answer, just leaned in, eyes falling shut as their lips touched for the first time.

It was awkward, as first kisses tend to be. Mark wasn't sure what to do with his hands, Roger's fingers sliding through his hair softly, so he just left them clutching at his snowglobe tightly, his own eyes snapping shut as he concentrated on the soft, slow, confusing movements of their lips over one anothers.

Roger lead it, and he broke it, taking a deep breath. He looked completely content. "Mm," he mumbled. "Always wanted to do that."

"M-me too…" Mark stuttered, abruptly wishing that he'd gotten a picture of that moment, so perfectly imperfect and crystal-clear in his mind. "I- does this mean-?"

"You're mine," Roger said simply. His eyes lowered as he took Mark's hand, prying it from the snowglobe. "Yeah. I mean, as long as you're okay with it."

"Yeah… I think I am." Mark felt the goofy smile starting to spread across his face, and he tried to hide it in embarrassment, turning away. He wasn't that lucky- Roger, mischievous as ever, nearly tackled him to the bed, tickling his sides furiously.

"What's that I see? Mark Cohen smiling? What's gotten into you, Marky, that's just unnatural!"

No amount of kicking and squirming, laughing breathlessly beneath his best friend and apparently boyfriend, could free him. But that was alright. When the attack finally subsided and they had both collapsed onto the mattress flushed and panting and joyous, Mark was still smiling.

Everything he'd been isolated from, missing out on all this time- all of it was right here, on Christmas morning with Roger.

The young guitarist twined their fingers again between them and they both looked down to see their hands between them, reflected by the snowglobe dimly, and sighed.

Looks like he got to play the reindeer games after all.


	5. Public Displays

**Title:** Public Displays

**Pairing: **Mark/Roger (Marker)  
><strong>Summary:<strong> The bohos come over to celebrate Christmas with Mark and Roger and spend the entire time trying to trick them under the mistletoe.

**A/N: **This one is dedicated to Daelen (cupcakexheartagramxdraco) who is awesome and I just love her to pieces. Because she's an HP/RENT nerd like me, and she introduced me to Dr. Horrible, and she had one of my favorite requests. I like how this turned out and I hope you enjoy it, friend! :D Happy holidays!

Mark blamed himself, entirely. Sure, Maureen had supplied the goods and Joanne had let her and Collins had known all along, but he should have noticed. Maureen was never very god at being sneaky, and if he wasn't a little tiny bit tipsy- _"Maaaark, come on! Get drunk with me!" "Roger, it's ten a.m." "But it's Christmas! Fucking Christmas, man!"- _he would have seen it right away. He had to have looked right over it.

"Haaaaappy Hannukah!" Maureen shrieked the moment she was through the door. She threw her arms around the flustered filmmaker, over-exuberant and smelling strongly of Joanne's perfume as usual.

"Mo, I don't really celebrate-"

"Where's your me- men- um- candle thing?" She blinked, eyes scanning the room quickly as she pulled away. He gave an exasperated sigh.

"We don't have one. We have a tree, though..."

The bohemians generally didn't have more than enough money to scrape by, but when they wanted to they could always manage to pull together decorations. Angel had helped with that, the year she was with them. Now, without her, Mimi had taken her place, and she was dutifully hanging colorful paper chains and humming along to the Christmas tunes streaming from her portable radio. Mark wondered what would happen if Benny turned their power off again right now- he was briefly entertained by the image of the furious Latina stomping up to his apartment in her work skimpy santa outfit, hands on her hips to reprimand him in Spanish and demand he turn it back on, or get slapped.

The tiny pine, reminiscent of Charlie Brown's Christmas tree, sat on the metal table in the kitchen with gift wrapped boxes and bags scattered haphazardly around it, shimmering with sparkles and bows and the multicolored light of the Christmas lights adorning the walls because the tree was too small. It was oddly cheerful, even though most of their gifts were probably crappy little dollar store trinkets or thrift items, or in Mimi's case homemade things made out of whatever she could find. Maureen was attracted to it immediately, zooming over to observe it, and Mark sighed with relief as he was released.

"Batshit crazy. Didn't I tell you?" Roger chuckled behind him, alarmingly close to his ear. He whipped around- Mark couldn't help being high strung, he always had been, always would be- and smiled upon seeing Roger's dancing green eyes.

"That was a long time ago. When we were dating," he pointed out, not denying the statement. The taller man rolled his eyes, about to make another counterargument, but suddenly everything was quiet. Nervously, Mark turned again and nearly jumped.

"Maureen! Don't sneak up on me!" he yelped, stumbling right into Roger''s arms. The guitarist happily wrapped them around him, nuzzling into his neck, and Mark blushed faintly at the public display of affection. He was never much for them, which had proved to be a problem with Maureen before and Roger now, both of them affectionate people. Nevertheless, he rubbed Roger's shoulder, earning a delighted squeal from Mo.

"You two are SO cute," she gushed, holding up the sprig of mistletoe that Mark had neglected to notice before, and he immediately paled, backing further into Roger.

"No. No, no no no-" He twisted around to give his boyfriend a pleading look, and Roger took pity on him. He couldn't resist those blue puppy dog eyes. "Please, no. Mo. Come on. You know I don't like-"

"Give it a rest," Roger advised her, kissing the top of Mark's head for good measure before releasing him and putting a respectable distance between them. He folded his arms, raising an eyebrow at her in challenge, and she stuck out her lip and pouted.

"I'll get you. You'll see," she threatened, extending her pointer at both of them and narrowing her eyes.  
>Collins, in the background, just laughed. Joanne looked on in mild exasperation. And Mimi kept on swaying to the music, beautiful Spanish flowing from her lips.<p>

"Feliz navidad! Prospero ano y felicidad!"

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Mark found himself growing more and more paranoid as the day progressed, denying the bottle of Stoli and the joint Collins passed his way. The philosopher gave him a knowing look, chuckling as he took a puff and laid back on the couch, utterly relaxed- he was just getting over a cold, and Mark was glad to see his friend feeling better.

"Marky," Roger whined, coming up behind him again to rub his stiff shoulders. "Come dance with me! Mimi is torturing me!" Said Latina shot him a look, huffing and returning to her wild, fluid movements, Maureen clapping and trying to imitate her, Joanne flushing and looking away as her girlfriend's skirt flew up behind her.

"I don't dance." Mark was a rock, immovable, frowning and nursing his camera close to him as he recorded the dancing. It was a bit of a lie, but he didn't know that. Only Joanne had any idea of his secret tangoing skills.

"But you do with me," he tried, flashing him a winning smile, a curl of his overgrown dirty-blonde hair falling into his eyes. Mark felt himself melt a little, licking his lips and glancing down at his feet as he shuffled them, resisting the urge to run his hands through it.

"Not right now, Rog... Later. When everyone's gone." He gave him a weak smile and smoothed his shirt down anxiously, and the rocker sighed, exasperated.

"What if I- MAUREEN!" Roger scowled, maneuvering Mark bodily to the other side of him. The filmmaker looked around in alarm, forgetting to rewind the crank on his camera as frantically searched for the offending woman. Maureen looked frustrated and disappointed, stretched up on her tiptoes reaching over Roger's head dangling the damned mistletoe again. He exhaled sharply in relief, giving Roger's arm a grateful squeeze.

"I told you, Mo!" he glared at her, pink with annoyance. "Don't do that!"

She just winked, obviously not done with him, and flounced off to the group who were all watching them discreetly, grinning. Mark started to get the feeling that they were all in cahoots, but that might have been the paranoia that so defined him-

He caught a glimpse of Collins rolling his eyes, eying them mischievously, and all doubts disappeared.

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

It was late, almost time for them to start passing out or walking home- walking, or taking a cab, not driving both because only Joanne owned a car and because they were hardly sober. Mark had given in, eventually, needing to relieve some of the tension that Maureen was causing him, and downed several shots with Mimi. And here he was, feeling fuzzy and pleasant, sitting with his camera filming as Joanne taught Collins how to tango in the middle of the living room to the tune of Frosty the Snowman.

"You've got it," she nodded in approval as their feet swept around the dusty floor together, and the other bohemians laughed and cheered them on. Roger had somehow managed to attach himself to him, surprising even less drunk than he was- possibly for the first time- just leaning his head on his shoulder happily, occasionally turning to press his lips to his shoulders, his cheek, his neck. Mark didn't mind. He was too inebriated to care, and anyways, it's not like he was really kissing him-

"I got you!" came Maureen's triumphant crow, and he looked up in horror to see that she had managed to hand the green leaves and red berries directly over both of their heads. _Fuck. How did she do that?  
><em>Roger followed his gaze and grinned. "She got us fair and square," he pointed out, sounding more than a little hopeful, and twisted around so he was facing his boyfriend. "Come on, Cohen, show me what you've got."

Mark looked around the room nervously. The music was still playing, the snow floating gently outside in the darkness, candles and Christmas lights keeping the room cheerful and warm enough. Joanne and Collins had paused in their dance, swinging around to look at them curiously, Mimi joining in on the anticipation and Maureen smirking down at them, and oh God he was really going to have to do this wasn't he?

Taking a deep breath and muttering, "I hate you. I hate you so much." Mark decided to plunge in headfirst, swooping down and slamming his mouth into Roger's, hands tangling in his hair, straddling his lap- his camera was put aside, forgotten for the moment as his eyes squeezed shut tightly. A bright flush had risen on his cheeks and he could feel it, hot and uncomfortable, but Roger was groaning into it and he couldn't concentrate on anything else. It didn't matter that they had an audience or that he thought he looked weird when he kissed, just that Roger was clutching him closer, tongue thrusting into his mouth and hands sliding up under his sweater to brush over his nipples.

An electric current seemed to go through him and he gasped, jerking away. A thin trail of saliva connected their mouths and he licked his lips, rubbing them self-consciously, suddenly embarrassed feeling all of the eyes trained on him. He buried his face in Roger's shoulder, hiding himself, and Roger gladly allowed this, hugging him tightly looking so satisfied it was almost comical.

Then the applause started. He was almost certain it was Maureen who started it, and he almost wanted to laugh as everyone quickly followed suit, Collins wolf whistling and the girls squealing, laughing.

"About time!" Collins called. Roger grinned, and Mark nodded sheepishly as he pulled away.

"Did I ever tell you that I've always wanted to do that?" Roger murmured into his ear, practically purring. With a small laugh he nodded.

"Does PDA count as your Christmas present?"

"I think it does." And with a crooked grin, Roger leaned in again. Mark closed his eyes and let him.

Hell, it was Christmas. Why not?


	6. Christmahannukwanzaakuh

**Title:** Christmahannukwanzaakuh

**Pairing:** Mark/Benny, mention of Mark/Maureen (Markeen)

**Summary: **During the holidays, Mark and Benny decline to go home and instead spend Christmas together in their dorm, talking about everything from cookies to the meaning of life.

**A/N: **For Michelle (Angelic Prophecy), who was the first Mark Cohen I ever met! You introduced me to the roleplay that now keeps me sane and we've had some good times. Like when I commented on all of your pictures. :L You and Inky are adorable. And your tumblr greatly amuses me on a regular basis. I hope you enjoy this because I wrote it specifically with the pairings I know you like. MERRY CHRISTMAS MICHELLE.

Benny wrinkled his nose, looking around curiously and furrowing his eyebrows as he quietly let himself into his dorm room on Christmas morning. It smelled like… Frosting. Sugar. Christmas, if Chrismtas had a smell. He didn't understand it. Out of respect for Mark and due to his own derision for the holiday, he hadn't done anything with the dorm for the holidays, leaving it bare and boring as ever.

"Mark…?" he asked slowly, apprehensive. The business student slowly peeled off his jacket, dropping his mail on the desk nearest the door- his- and slowly entering. His strawberry-blonde roommate was lounging on his bed on the other side of the room with a plate of Christmas cookies, a textbook open in his lap.

Casting his blue eyes upward, Mark nodded to acknowledge Benny's presence, a small crooked smile on his lips. "Hey," he mumbled through a mouthful of sugar, swallowing before trying a longer sentence. "Where've you been?"

"Running errands… Had to drop off that late essay for Economics." He made a face, and Mark tossed him a sympathetic look. "Studying?"

"Yeah…" He shrugged, returning his eyes to the textbook. He didn't look bored to death as he should, and Benny guessed that had to do with the sugar. "Maureen and her friend Joanne made me Christmas cookies…" He held up the plate in question, offering. "Want some?"

"Why the hell not," Benny sighed, striding over to take a gingerbread-man shaped pastry and biting into it. He sat on the edge of Mark's bed as he chewed, giving him an amused look. "Doesn't she know you're-"

"I don't want to talk about it." Mark looked annoyed- it would have been more remarkable, as it wasn't in his nature to get mad at anyone, but Benny knew that Maureen had been borderline offensive for months now and it was getting on his roommates' nerves.

"You've been dating her for two years, man," he pointed out. "I don't want to be that guy, but…"

"I know." The scrawnier man sighed, looking forlornly out the window. Benny scooted closer to him, glad that it was hard to see the faint flush against his dark skin; Mark always complained about it, the way Benny could always tease him when he was embarrassed. It wasn't his fault his skin was practically translucent, but it just made things too easy.

"Hey. Don't worry about her. Christmas is overrated anyways, Hannukah is where it's at," Benny tried to cheer his friend up, grinning. Mark snorted and looked at him, mildly amused.

"I don't really celebrate either. Holidays aren't really my thing," he admitted, giving up and setting his textbook aside, shutting it with a snap. He picked up another cookie, a green-sprinkled pine tree shape, and bit into it thoughtfully. "It seems like they're all just an excuse for supermarkets to sell their entire stock of useless toys and trinkets."

"Commercial holidays," the other man agreed, throwing a casual arm around his friend's shoulders. This was always their pattern, this easy friendship. Benny came from a poor family, father always riding him to work his way up, earn his place in society; Mark had been forced, pressured by his father to study business, and they both knew that one day he was going to get fed up, take his camera and walk out. But no matter their backgrounds they had an understanding of one another and sometimes it became this, this unnamed feeling between them when they were alone in the dorm and Maureen was out with her "friend" disregarding her boyfriend's religious values.

"Maybe I should start celebrating Kwanzaa instead. Who knows, maybe Mo would jump on board- she wouldn't forget then," Mark laughed, nodding. He leaned his head on Benny's shoulder gratefully, eyes closing, and Benny could smell sugar on his breath. "You think?"

"Not very likely, but it's worth a try," he shrugged, offering an encouraging smile and tightening his arm just slightly. "Maybe just fuck it and celebrate everything at once."

"That's actually not a bad idea…" Mark seemed to mull the idea over for a minute, looking down at the bedspread and stroking the awful goatee he'd been growing that Benny had given up on advising him to shave. Finally, he looked back up, face scrunched in uncertain confusion. "Christmahannukwanzaakuh? … Is that right?"

"You tell me." Benny gave a small burst of laughter- whether he liked to admit it or not, Mark was a cute one. It was a shame he was already on his way out. He would miss him when he went. "You made it up."

"I'm sure I didn't. I'm not that creative." Mark snorted quietly, self-deprecating. Benny had noticed that pattern about him. Mark didn't take compliments very well. He had an ego, but it was a masochistic sort.

"You're right," he mocked, teasing him lightly and pulling him closer, practically into his lap. "Your screenplays suck. I don't know why you write them."

"Oh, fuck you! My screenplays are fine!"

There it was.

Chuckling, Benny turned his face and quickly pressed their lips together. It was chaste, a nothing of a kiss. But his counterpart immediately smiled, brilliant, like the Christmas lights that they hadn't hung in the dorm.

And from there on out it became the sort of Christmas Benny would be both fond and ashamed of when he recalled it years later, sitting in his living room petting the yappy Akita he didn't even like and listening to Alison whine about how he never spent enough time with her.

Sighing, future Benny held his face in his hands. He should have gone with Mark. It had been a long time, and too many bad things had happened between them to just forget. But they had that, that Christmas and maybe if he just reminded him…

Maybe. Maybe next time he saw him he would.


	7. Sugar Coated

**Title:** Sugar Coated

**Pairing: **Mark/Roger (Marker)

**Summary: **When Mark brings home a gingerbread house to make with Roger, Roger finds himself reflecting on their friendship in terms of candy.

**A/N: **Nikki! (thatspoeticthatspathetic) Guess what! This is yours! It's Marker-y as fuck so I hope you like it, since that's all you requested. Happy Holidays, by the way. :D Enjoy Boston! I love you and think you're just the bestest and as previously stated, one day we will live in weird adjoined non-apartment houses and have 20 cats, a hedgehog and a rat between us. Yes. Love. Our tumblr tags kick ass. On with the show! So sorry it's late.

"The fuck is that?" Roger grunted, eying the box under Mark's arm apprehensively as the filmmaker kicked off his boots and shook the snow out of his hair. He gave Roger a halfhearted glare, slamming the metal door shut behind him and attempting to juggle the grocery bags in both hands along with the slightly squished looking cube. Asshole that he generally was, Roger sat back on the couch strumming faintly on his acoustic, watching his friend struggle.

"Gingerbread house," Mark grunted, struggling to get out of his coat. He gave up, dropping the bags on the floor and peeling his arms out of it before hanging it up and bringing them to the kitchen, once again letting them lay randomly on the floor.

"… Why?" The guitarist almost didn't want to ask. Mark had that unpredictable air about him, the one he got on certain occasions and decided to throw everyone off- safe, responsible, cautious Mark can be surprisingly wild when he wants to be, and his ideas are some of the most fucked up Roger has ever heard. And he was the only one allowed to hear them. He wasn't sure if he was flattered or disturbed.

"Because. We don't have money for a tree, we don't have money for presents, and I might be a Jew by birth but god dammit we're going to celebrate Christmas one way or another," he said, a determined set to his prominent jaw. Internally, Roger groaned. It was one of those manic days, wasn't it?

"Well, you have fun with that," he tried, knowing that it was useless but giving it a try anyways. Mark threw him an exasperated look, blue eyes glinting.

"You're not getting out of it," he said flatly. "It is _holiday time_, Roger, and I'm forcing you into some social interaction. I don't ever see you come out of your room anymore."

"Maaaark," Roger whined, immediately protesting although he knew that he would give in in the end. Besides the fact that Mark was obsessive, he was just a sucker for Mark. And Mark knew it.

"Don't 'Mark' me! Get your ass off the couch and make a fucking gingerbread house with me! It's going to be fucking _delicious!_"

Groaning, Roger obeyed and got his ass off the couch, trailing into the kitchen after his manic friend.

He hated to admit it, but it was nice to see Mark excited about something.

MRMRMRMRMRMRMRMRMR

It was almost bemusing, the sight of this much sugar piled on and spread over the metal tabletop. Roger wondered why they were starving artists if Mark had scraped together the cash for a humongous bag of M&Ms, thick slabs of gingerbread, a _tub_ of frosting and a variety of other sweets, but he didn't bother thinking about it too hard. Who was he to complain about candy?

They worked in a companionable silence broken only by Mark's cheerful humming, so low that he probably thought his roommate couldn't even hear him. His hands, so delicate and pale, used to the neat and clean business of polishing his camera lens and winding film, were covered in off-white frosting as he attempted to erect the gingerbread structure, sticking the pieces together with the intense focus that only Mark Cohen could manage. Roger swallowed, trying not to think about the flutter in his chest, and let his mind wander.

His fingers wandered with it, stealing small pieces of candy here and there and popping them into his mouth. The first, of course, was a tiny red cinnamon candy. Mark, who he would have expected to swat his hand in reprimand, remained silent- he was never a fan of spicy things. Too hot for him, making him cringe; for Roger, it was perfect. Passion was heat was red and all of those things in a little piece of candy could only taste good. He'd never understood his roommate's aversion to cinnamon but he supposed there was nothing to be done.

His hand reached sneakily out in his impatience- how long did it really take to stick the roof on? He just wanted to put the damn candy on and be done with it so he could go back to his aimless strumming- and this time Mark did smack him. "Roger." His tone was mild, the faintest of smiles tilting his lips up. "No."

"What are you, my mom?" Not letting this deter himself, Roger snatched up a Junior Mint and bit into it, savoring the cool, sweet flavor that washed over his tongue and numbed his mouth.

If Mark was like any candy, he was a mint. Mint to Roger's cinnamon, perfect opposites. Whereas Roger was fiery and passionate and impulsive, Mark was calm and cool and collected. No wonder his last name was Cohen- all of those words started with a c, too. He had a hard time restraining his giggle as he sucked on it, chewing slowly as possible. God, Mark… He was such- well, a sweetheart, and the fact that he was even thinking this about his male best friend in terms of sappy nicknames made him a little sick but it couldn't be helped.

"What are you thinking about?" His head snapped up, blushing as he was caught in the act by his curious roommate. Mark's blue eyes, magnified by his glasses, peered at him in a friendly, questioning manner. "… Am I missing something?"

"No…" Muttering, he shook his head and looked back down to the Hershey kisses he was unwrapping, swallowing down that unsettling romantic feeling once more. "Nothing, Mark. Just thinking about candy."

Yeah, except ten times lamer than that. When had he started doing stupid shit like comparing his friendship with Mark to candy? God, he was pathetic.

"Mm… yeah. Candy is good," Mark grinned, and when he chanced a glance upwards he noticed the telltale white speck of frosting on his roommate's lower lip. Oh, so he was allowed to sneak candy? Mischief flashed in Roger's green eyes, and completely on impulse he leaned across the table.

"Wait- what-?" Mark's eyes widened in alarm, but he didn't move away as Roger's lips pressed to his less than gently and his tongue flicked over his lips, licking away the frosting there. He did, however, give an undignified squeak and shut his eyes, flushing a shade of red Roger wasn't even sure he'd ever seen before.

He gave him a satisfied smirk, gut coiling pleasantly, and suddenly he realizes that that was all he had wanted to do the past week.

"Can I start putting the goddamn gumdrops on the roof yet?" Cheerfully, he popped another mint in his mouth.

Blinking rapidly, a look of utter confusion on his face, Mark slowly and hesitantly thrust a handful of gumdrops in Roger's direction and abruptly looked down, his face flushed brightly and a small smile creeping up on.

Well.

Maybe he'd have to do that again…


	8. Something Good

**Title: **Something Good

**Pairing: **Collins/Angel (Cangel)

**Summary: **Angel walks Collins home that Christmas night to fix him up and the two of them discover that maybe, just maybe, there's a chance of something beautiful coming out of this.

**A/N: **For Inky (TheInksane) for just being awesome, for getting me, for being a cool ass friend and for letting me be her baby daddy. xD (Roleplay references, ftw.) You and Michelle are too cute. I'm just sayin'. Also, your hair is amazing, and I PROMISE NOT TO TOUCH FREDDIE SO DON'T KILL ME. :L You're the reason I use this face! Happy holidays to you, Chanler.

"So, you from around here?" Angel asked, remarkably at ease with one of Collins arms wrapped around his shoulders, heavily leaning on him as he limped along beside him, his plastic bucket under his other arm. He flashed Collins another encouraging smile, all dimples and just plain adorable, or at least Collins thought so. The philosopher nodded, taking another ragged breath.

"Grew up in a small town not far from here… Move around a lot but hey, worth it you know?" he chuckled dryly, licking blood from his lips. "There's a lot of world to see and not a lot of time to do it in. I'm just trying to see as much as I can."

Angel smiled, face half obscured in the shadows of the alley as they hobbled through it together. It was slow going, but somehow Collins didn't mind. He'd known this boy for five minutes and already he was mesmerized by him.

"I know what you mean," the younger man admitted. His laugh was youthful and throaty. "I want to touch as many people as possible before I go. And who knows when that could be?" He pauses, stopping and staring up at the sky- the velvet blackness that should be studded with stars like diamonds is hardly visible in this city of neon and chrome but he looks almost as though he can see right through it all. Collins likes that look. It's the look of a dreamer.

He wonders, briefly, how old Angel is. He doesn't look like he's old enough to have AIDS- but sadly, Collins knows that doesn't mean anything. In the city these days everyone seemed to be infected, one way or another. Perhaps humanity was the real disease…

Times like these were when he wished he had a joint on him.

When he looks back up, Angel is giving him a contemplative look, that same small knowing smile on his face. Collins feels his breath hitch; damn, this man is beautiful. The orange glow of streetlights illuminates him from above, giving his caramel skin a buttery sheen and he can't help the grin he gives back. He's glad, all at once, for his dark skin; his face feels entirely too hot.

"What?" he asked, although he thought he knew the answer. Angel wasn't looking at him that way for no good reason. He was figuring him out. Analyzing him. And although normally that would make him a little uncomfortable, maybe even offended that a stranger could even think that they knew him just by looking at him- but this was Angel. Angel was just that.

He was obviously a kindred spirit. It was obvious, from the concern in his voice when he had first seen the shapeless, groaning lump that was Collins bleeding on the ground to the gentle touch of his hands as he helped him up.

And maybe it was a little clichéd, but Collins was pretty sure he was beginning to fall.

"Nothing," Angel laughed. "Nothing at all. You have very nice eyes."

The way he said it was so sincere that Collins chest ached. He stared at the other man in the same curious way he had just been scrutinized, several long moments in which their steps grew slower and slower until they stopped altogether directly beneath a streetlamp, bathed in the dim glow. The gaze was intense and very intimate, especially for a pair of people that had met maybe moments before, but Collins couldn't bring himself to care.

He glanced down, eventually, unable to stare into the other man's soul any longer, and raised an eyebrow. "Blue nails?" He chuckled, suddenly filled with overwhelming relief and hope and all of the things he wanted to be on Christmas Eve.

"My favorite color. It looks good with my skin, eh?" Angel threw his head back and laughed. "Just wait until you see my new outfit. It looks fantastic." It was the wink that sealed the deal.

"I'd- love to see it," Collins said with a small, self-conscious laugh. He wasn't trying to hide it anymore- he was attracted to this man on so many levels that he wasn't ready to give up the chance, just that slim chance, that something good might come out of the whole awful meeting.

"I'd love you to see it." Now, that was definitely flirtatious. Almost a purr, and he felt his eyes widen- oh, God, Angel had said he had nice eyes and _shit_ now he knows he's hooked- and-

It's chaste and short and Angel pulls away before he's even sure if it happened. But it's the look in his eyes as he regards Collins again, playful but serious at the same time, that assures him that he's really been kissed.

"Ready to go? I live a couple of blocks away."

"I- oh, yeah… sure. Can do." The grin on his face is so wide he's afraid it might break. Angel laughs and wraps an arm around his waist, tugging him down the sidewalk.

And he decides that maybe something good _has_ come out of this after all.


	9. Snow Angel

**Title:** Snow Angel

**Pairing:** Angel/Mimi friendship

**Summary:** Mimi Marquez meets her best friend on a cold day in December on the corner outside of her apartment, six years old and innocent despite the harsh reality all around her.

**A/N: **I dedicate this to my very good friend Mimi (TheBroadwaywannabe) for always being there for me, for trusting me with your own secrets whenever I'm not whining about mine, and for writing beautifully fucked up stories that I can't get enough of. You go, girl. :D You're amazing and I hope you know that. Happy holidays! Sorry this is way late.

It's the middle of winter, closing in on Christmas Eve tucked into this corner on the outskirts of the city, and not too cold for it to look pretty outside. A young Mimi Marquez has been sitting in the windowsill all night watching the snowstorm through the frigid glass, brown eyes huge with wonder. She knew that her mother wouldn't care; she had the boys to take care of and her newborn sister, and Maria wouldn't be home until tomorrow to help take care of the kids. She had more things to worry about than her second eldest daughter.

Dawn came slowly and sweetly, the howling wind finally having calmed and let the snow flutter to the ground in a pristine blanket of white. All the way over here, the very edges of the city, no one has stepped outside yet to run it- the clock on the wall reads seven a.m. or at least she thinks so. Her little sister is crying in her mother's room quietly, but that is a noise they have all gotten used to.

She wastes no time pulling on her full snow gear- coat and gloves and boots and scarf and even the snow pants that were starting to get small, exposing her ankles to the chill. But it would be worth it, she told herself, dark curls bouncing around her face. Worth being the first one to put footprints in that nice white snow outside, and claim the city as her own. At six years old this is a novelty that she wouldn't miss out on for the world; to her, the city is only as big as the parts she has seen- and that doesn't much extend past the block she lives on.

It's with the quietest of creaks that she opens the door and shuts it again behind her, making sure that it has locked- one of the first things her mother had taught her, when she was old enough to try leaving the apartment by herself- before prancing down the hallway in excitement. She would be singing the Christmas carols that she's heard on the radio the past week and a half but the neighbors, she's learned though experience, aren't appreciative of her sweet young voice.

A blast of freezing air greets her as she exits the building, but that doesn't deter Mimi. She can take a little cold; heat is a rarity in her apartment, anyways, and nothing can stop her from being the first outside. She imagines that across the city other children her age are scrambling to catch up with her, somehow knowing that she is in the lead and about to beat them and none can seem to catch up with her. The thought makes her smile and she walks out of the buildings long shadow into the snow-covered street, silent and snow-covered and perfect.

Her first step makes the prettiest crunching noise and she sighs in relief. Yes, she is the winner of a contest going on in her own imagination, but it is a good feeling. And almost in the same moment, she sees across the street a dark shape slipping out of another worn brick building and looking around in wonder.

Squinting, she bites her lip and leans forward trying to see. Mimi knows not to talk to strangers, but this one looks about her age anyways- the figure tentatively stepped into the snow the same way she had. Curiosity consumed her and she made up her mind. The young Latina girl began striding evenly across the empty street in the pink light of the early morning and towards he child on the other side.

He looks up- it's a boy, she thinks, or at least looks like it- and blinks in surprise as she approaches. "Hello," he says, startled, and maybe she was wrong. If this is a boy, he has a very feminine voice.

"Hi," she replies brightly, all dimples and that curly hair peeking out from beneath her hat. "My name's Mimi. Do you want to make a snowman?" This is Mimi, impulse and energy. She's never believed in waiting for anything.

"…Can it be a snow woman?" the boy asked tentatively after a moment. He seemed a little shy. Well. That could be fixed.

"Sure," she chirped, all sun and smiles and dimples and the other child grins right back at her automatically. Yeah, he's a keeper. She thinks to herself that he really doesn't require a whole lot of work- hammer out that pesky shyness and he would be good to go. A perfect companion.

The two of them kneel on the ground and begin to roll balls of snow in their gloved hands, disregarding the cold seeping through. A companionable silence wrapped them in a blanket of friendship.

It wasn't long before they had two large snowballs. With the boy's help, Mimi hoisted it up and balanced it on top of the other, patting it down. She used her finger, now numb from the cold and damp, to draw a shaky smiley face onto it's "head".

The boy glanced at her around the snow-woman and smiled, wider this time. Genuine. He opened his mouth and spoke, high and clear.

"I'm Angel."

Mimi smiled back and pulled him into a hug, giggling into his ear. The sun was rising in the sky and from across the street, she could hear her little sister start to cry and her mother scouring the house in search of her.

But never mind all of that. Today, something much more important had happened than sneaking out and building a snowman.

Mimi had made her first friend.


End file.
